Betrayal
by WamprickNyx
Summary: Far as Sabrina's concerned, Puck betrayed her. But did he really, or is there more to it? AU. Don't own Sisters Grimm. WARNING: Cursing, some adult themes later on. Coming up! Chapter 4: Control - She is in control now and nobody can stop her. ON HIATUS
1. Challenge 88: Cry

**Cry**

Did you ever stop breathing, just for a second? You forget about everything important to you, even the most basical things you need in order to survive, and soon your brain starts to scream from lack of oxygen. And then, you take a breath, a nice spurt of endorphins is released, but you can't really thank them for returning you back to the reality. After all, the horrid thoughts in your mind when you are lacking oxygen are not so easy to suppress. And there are some people, like her, who loathe reality.

She knows this too well, she is no stranger to the friggin' helplessness she feels every time she can't breathe. You can't expect her to love it, now, can you? Oh, don't worry about it. It's not like she seems to be caring for what people think or say about her. No, no, she certainly doesn't give a damn. She always _says_ that she doesn't.

She is denying. Oh yes, she is. She knows the truth, as well as you, as well as _him_, and she still denies, even when she's looking into your or _his_ eyes.

Yet, as much as she loves denying it, she does care. She cares especially what _he_ says to her.

Fucking git. He is a _fucking _git for making her have this damn _tears _all over her face. She _hates_ crying. She absolutely loathes it. It's not natural, crying is weakness and she is anything but weak. She may do stupid things, she may screw up everything, but she is NOT DAMN WEAK!

Yet, she is _fucking_ crying, because of _him_. Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!

TO HELL WITH HIM!  
_  
Shrack!_

Oh, well, now she destroyed a glass. Granny will be pleased to see her with pieces of glass everywhere, her blood staining the carpet. Oh yes, Granny Relda will be extremely pleased to see her granddaughter in a thin nightdress, pale and cold, eyes bloodshot from the horrid tears. The tears, the proof of her eyes' betrayal. She knows that there'll be questions asked, words that will pierce through her numbness and return her to the reality. She hates reality as much as she hates crying. Reality is fucking stupid, just like this goddamn town.

She hates questions, especially when others are asking them .

"_What happened liebling?"_

_"Why are you standing there like a ghost?"_

"_Have you been crying?" _

"_Oh my, go change your clothes, dear, you'll be frozen to death!" _

Oh joy.

She doesn't care. No, she doesn't give a damn at what he's saying. She doesn't cry for him, and she won't. She has enough self-respect for that. _She_, Sabrina Grimm, will cry for _him_, Puck the Trickster King? This is impossible. The Hell hasn't frozen yet. It'll only happen when pigs can fly.

Wait a second. Pigs _can _fly. He can fly, can't he? In this stupid town, everything is possible.

No, she will deny it. She hasn't accepted anything yet. She will continue denying. She can't accept it. If she does, then that may lead her--

--to admit that even after what he did, she _still_ l-

No, she can't go that far. She _won't _go that far. She just _won't. _

"Sabrina? What are you doing there? Wait, are you crying?"  
_  
_Daphne_. _Daphne can't know. _No one _can know.

"It's nothing. Go to sleep Daphne."

This voice doesn't sound like her at all. Her voice always has a rich edge to it, it's high and melodic and usually filled with sarcasm, not hoarse and agonized like this.

"Did you break something? Oh, well, it doesn't matter, Granny won't care, I'm sure. But why are you crying?"

No. No, no, no. Daphne can't know. She mustn't. She'll tell the others. The others, especially _him_, can't know...

"Is it Puck? Sabrina, I may be younger than you but while you age I age too. I'm not a six-year- old that won't understand a thing anymore. Now tell me, is it Puck?"

She can't answer. Daphne will learn. Daphne will tell them. Tell _him. _Like he doesn't have enough satisfaction from her tears.

"Daphne, just leave me alone. I'll go to bed a few minutes later, okay?"

Come now, Daphne. Just leave her alone. She needs time. She needs to think, to solve this problem. She needs--

--_him_.

"Sabrina? It's him, I know. He always makes you angry but Sabrina, you never cry. You can't even deny it, can you? It's him. Come on, let's just sleep, sis. Honestly, you look like a ghost. Think of tomorrow, happy things, Mum and Dad... Remember the picnic we went on when I was four? I still remember it, you know. I can't believe I still do, but somehow I can. Hey, do you think I'm like that woman on TV who says she can remember every memory? I'd like to be like her, it must be so cool. But I can't remember everything, so I guess that's not true and..."

Sabrina lets a little smile grace her lips as she takes her little sister's hand and walks towards the stairs.

Now she can admit it. She cries for him. She cries for Puck, who betrayed her. Who left her, who broke her heart into little pieces and shoved them back at her face. She cries for the Everafter she fell in love with, and she cries for a future she won't have. A future with him.

But she has Daphne, no? Daphne will help her pick up the pieces. That's what sisters do, they help each other. And she has Granny Relda, Mr. Clay, Uncle Jake, Briar Rose... She has many people, people that will support her. She can go on without him. She doesn't need him.

She doesn't need him.

She denies her heart's desire. It will do her no good. Does crying do any good? It doesn't. That's why she hates crying. It's useless, meaningless and won't change anything. There's no reason to cry.

Not anymore.

She has cried tonight, one time, and it is for _him_. That's all. She'll never cry again.

Despite what you may believe, Sabrina Grimm never cries. She is not that weak. Tonight was just an exception.

* * *

**A/N: **Now, finally, I finished my first Sisters Grimm Fanfiction, and a sad one at that! I wanted to write a dark, angsty fic; but I don't think I managed. Oh well, it's not like I care. Really, I don't.

OK. I admit it. I'm not incredibly happy with this fic. I really didn't think it would turn out to be like this. I just started writing it and then, as suddenly as I started, I finished it.

About the topic... I hadn't thought much about it. This is my respond to Cannibalistic Skittles' challenge, and I hope I did well. I knew I didn't want to make a sappy romance scene and this came out. I wanted to make Puck bad, betraying Sabrina, making her mad; but I was too scared to write a dialogue between them because I really can't write dialogues. They sound absolutely horrible to me –only when _I _write. I also hope I didn't make Brina and Daph very OOC, because I hate it. It's been sometime since I read the books, so I may have done something wrong and be completely oblivious to it. I apologize for every possible mistake. I also changed the 'bloody' parts to American swear words. Or I think I did.

I was listening to Comptine D'un Autre Eté from Amélie Soundtrack while I was writing this and I was extremely moody. I guess that's why I wrote this piece. I hope you liked it. Even if you didn't, pleaseeeeeeee review because they are food for my soul, you know.

By the way, I'll give you cookies if you do! Unfortunately, I only have imaginary cookies. Chocolate covered ones. I love them. Mmmm...

Your queer and amateur authoress who wishes nothing but reviews (and Tom Riddle all to herself),  
Nyxiee


	2. Challenge 27: Eyes

**Eyes**

He had such beautiful eyes. Like the colour of the sea, changing colour whenever _he_ changed his attitude.

She had realized the evident beauty his eyes held the first time she met him. She hadn't let anyone see through the façade, though. She let herself known as the cheerful little girl of the household. You might think she was very young to think such complex things, you might say that to pretend at her young age would be impossible and you might go on and on.. But she had done this, so there was no need to argue now, was there? She tricked everyone, she hid her enormous admiration for the "filthy fairy boy" as her dear sister called him.

She knew very well that her sister was another victim to those eyes, either. His eyes – first blue, then green - had imprisoned them both. They both chose to hide it. The elder one ignored it, dismissed it as a stupid thought but still continued her admiration deep inside. She fed it, though, unknowingly. The younger, however, only hid it, never ignored and chose to remember it, let it grow as the days passed. She fed it like a hidden flower, letting nobody see it.

His eyes were filled with ice. _Not_ hard ice, they didn't numb her. They, somehow, gave her _hope_. She couldn't understand exactly how or why she felt those butterflies in her stomach, or why that icy cold gave her a warm feeling instead of a chill - not that she really wanted to know the answer. This was a rhetorical curiousity, like you wonder who is in the house when you see the lights on but don't dare go downstairs and find out the truth. Daphne certainly didn't want to learn what would happen if she told him about how she felt. It would be a total disaster.

Those eyes were captivating. It wasn't something she could explain with mere words, after all, what were words other than a bunch of letters? They became pretty meaningless when it came to describr her feelings for him.

The blue eyes, she thought, were better than green. Back then, when they weren't green, he had no feelings – at least seemingly no, if you didn't count the pranks - for her sister. He hadn't paid attention to her as much as she wanted, too, as expected. He merely called her marshmallow, and that was it. He saw a little cheery girl when he looked at him, no other thing. Still, she had hope at that time. The blue eyes of his had twinkled for evil pranks he would play on the household. Now, or until today, they twinkled whenever he saw _her. _Not Daphne.

She loved him so much. Hiding all the love bubbling in her chest from him exhausted her, it really did. She had no strength left.

Of course, she hadn't expected him to love her back. Wasn't he too good for her? It was more than funny; it was utterly ironic how deluded she had been before. After all, he had clearly chosen the elder sister. There was no hope anymore. And loving him had tired her so much that she wasn't sure if she had enough strength to go on. She probably didn't have, if she had, she'd be moving on, wouldn't she? She certainly wasn't. Hurt, swollen, exhausted: These were the only words that could explain how she felt.

Like the colour of the sea his eyes were. But opposite at the same time. Unlike the sea, when _he_ raged, they would change to blue, and in calmness, they would be back to green.

She often wondered why his eyes changed. She knew that Sabrina had an affinity to green eyes, so maybe that was the reason? And Sabrina was the one he wanted, so why should he care if Daphne preferred blue?

But it had all changed now. She had hope after yesterday's events. Maybe he would come to her? She _did_ feel guilt, though, a great deal of guilt for being secretly happy and pretending to be so unhappy for her sister's sake, yet...

Daphne sighed and put her hands on marble surface of the vanity in her room. She stared at her reflection in the elegant mirror Granny Relda bought her, barely noticing her features from the lack of light. Frowning, she glanced at her hands. They were pale, slender and long-fingered; perfect for playing an instrument such as piano. She was taking lessons, maybe she could be a great virtuoso. Maybe he'd like her playing piano...

Her gaze wandered to the door. She wondered if Sabrina had slept through after all that fight she had with him today. She probably had. Daphne knew if it had happened to her, she certainly wouldn't sleep so peacefully like her unfeeling sister. Instead, she'd cry all night. Sabrina _didn't_ deserve him, he _needed_ someone like _Daphne_, someone that _cared_ for him, not a _total bitch_like Sab-

She froze. She hadn't thought that now, had she? She most definitely hadn't called her own sister a bitch? What was th-this feeling-this _love _turning her into? If Puck came to her and asked her for marriage, would she accept it? Would she accept it, while Sabrina was watching her in shock, mourning for her lost love?

But he would've chosen me, Daphne thought. He would've chosen me had it not been for Sabrina. Had it-

_Shrack!_

Daphne let out a small gasp. What was that noise? Was it Sabrina? She wasn't dumb enough to think Puck would come back and apologize to Sabrina so he was out of the question. Uncle Jake and Briar Rose were still in their rooms, of that she was sure and Granny Relda wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night to break something. Mr. Canis would be awake, yes, but he definitely wouldn't go downstairs when he could meditate. That only left Sabrina, whose eyes were bloodshot and filled with rage the last time she saw her.

Could she really be so upset about the whole ordeal? _Silly,_ Daphne mentally smacked herself. Of course she would be upset, this was Puck, and having the first real fight in the last five years was not a small problem. That 'first real fight in five years' ought to count for something, she told herself, trying to convince her own mind by stating the obvious facts.

She knew the truth all along, and still, she had chosen to believe her own childish fantasies, ignoring the facts all in front of her. They loved each other and there was nothing, _absolutely nothing_ she could do about this. When she thought more deeply into the situation in hand, she realized how immature all this thinking of hers had been. To think that Puck would choose Daphne over _her_? It was an idea to laugh at, to make fun of. It was useless, silly, foolish, weird, preposterous, fatuous, ridiculous, irrational, ludicrous... just plainly absurd.

She sighed. She probably had to see what her sister was doing downstairs.

* * *

There aren't many things that can glue you to the spot you're standing on. To make you unable to move, to comprehend the situation you're in and just stand someplace, stare blankly on the ground with wide eyes. At least, for some people, that is. In years, Daphne had become one of them and so had Sabrina. This was why Daphne couldn't believe what she saw.

Her sister, the strong and sharp-tongued Sabrina Grimm, could be mistaken for a frozen structure. Her blond, once shiny hair was down, tangled and messy. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her face tear-stricken. Her bottom lip was swollen, though Daphne had no idea as to why it was. She could swore that Sabrina's shoulders were shaking, and this one feature made it totally unbelievable to Daphne's mind, since Sabrina, her short-tempered sister wouldn't _sob_. Sobbing was a result of crying and-

Sabrina was _crying?_

Daphne froze, again.

Sabrina would _never _cry. She despised crying, she detested, hated, _loathed_ it. Nothing, no one would make _her_ cry, _nothing_ or _no one_. This wasn't possible, somebody causing _her_ to cry...

"Sabrina? What are you doing there? Wait, are you crying?"

She surprised herself by speaking. Her voice didn't sound natural to her own ears, it was fake, forced. She didn't think Sabrina would miss it, yet considering the condition she was in, she didn't believe Sabrina could distinguish the genuine from the fake, either. It was so hard to believe that Sabrina was actually crying. Crying was weakness to her, she would never cry even if she was at the brink of death. Was she so hurt that she didn't care?

"It's nothing. Go to sleep Daphne."

Her voice sounded pained, and this hoarse tone didn't hold any similarities with the usual melodic voice of hers. Daphne frowned a bit. Sabrina was a lot more effected than she thought.

"Did you break something? Oh, well, it doesn't matter, Granny won't care, I'm sure. But why are you crying?"

Oh, she knew well enough that her older sister wasn't a little child, crying because she broke something. This was called _being oblivious to the situation at hand and assuring the person._

"Is it Puck? Sabrina, I may be younger than you but while you age, I age too. I'm not a six-year-old that won't understand a thing anymore. Now tell me, is it Puck?"

And it was followed by the one called _being aware of everything and shooting the person right on the spot with the knowledge._

Sabrina stiffened.

"Daphne, just leave me alone. I'll go to bed a few minutes later, okay?"

Like she actually would. Daphne wouldn't have believed this nonsense even if she was four. Sabrina had to be in a very bad mental condition to try persuading her with that crap.

She knew what she had to do. She always did. Her role was to support people, to give them a shoulder to cry on or to comfort them. She had to be the cheerful little girl everyone was so used to see. She had to be supporting, caring and thoughtful, considering Sabrina's current situation, she knew she had to.

And she did. She forgot her own pain, and focused on her sister's. She emphatized with her, because that's what she does the best.

"Sabrina? It's him, I know. He always makes you angry but Sabrina, you never cry. You can't even deny it, can you? It's him. Come on, let's just sleep, sis. Honestly, you look like a ghost. Think of tomorrow, happy things, Mum and Dad... Remember the picnic we went on when I was four? I still remember it, you know. I can't believe I still do, but somehow I can. Hey, do you think I'm like that woman on TV who says she can remember every memory? I'd like to be like her, it must be so cool. But I can't remember everything, so I guess that's not true and besides, she wasn't beautiful. Well, I prefer being intelligent of course, but having to deal with such hair like hers would be hell. Not cool at all. I worry about you, sis. Yep, Puck overdid himself, but you wouldn't cry if- Whatever, let's think about what we should tell Granny Relda tomorrow. She'd immeadiately noti-"

She went on and on. She herself didn't even know what she was talking about and just let her mouth form the words. She smiled through her pain, hid the mixed agony in her chest. Sabrina took her hand and smiled a little. Then Daphne looked up into her eyes and smiled, this time genuinely, her pain forgotten.

Her sister's blue eyes were shining with acceptance and gratefulness.

Daphne truly liked blue eyes.

* * *

**A/N**: This was crap. I like the first one better. It was a lot more emotional. This one's... well, not good, probably because I didn't listen to any song while writing this. And I also forgot ever writing this for some time. Besides, I'm not good at writing Daphne, she's too depressed in this. Sabrina is a lot easier to write, maybe because we have a lot more in common.

Then I had a decision to make: Should I continue with the idea of Puck betraying Sabrina, or should I find a new topic for each chapter? I couldn't decide, so I wrote two chapters. The other one I wrote - the one I didn't post - was a lot worse, I think, but maybe I'll post it later, I don't know. Anyway, the crappiness must be the result of me trying to write in past tense. I'm much more used to the simple present and I like it more but I decided to go with the flow and ended up writing past tense.

I don't want to sound like one of those oh-I'm-so-sorry-for-writing-bad-so-I'll-just-give-you-a-lot-of-excuses-and-be-done-with-it kind of people, but that's the truth so don't sue me!

About the topic, I can only say that Puck somehow hurt Sabrina and she is heartbroken. Daphne is also in love with Puck, but cannot tell this to anyone and instead she bottles it all up. The story will explore this love triangle, so be ready guys.

Again, sorry, this isn't so good, but you've gotta be content with this for now. I promise the next one will be better. I really do. Scouts honor, guys!

Oh, and I don't own Sabrina, Daphne, Puck or anything related to Sisters Grimm. Sad, I know.

your very very very unhappy amateur author nyxiee

P.S: Heath Ledger died exactly one year and two days ago, on January 22, 2008. May he rest in peace. His death's anniversary has to do with my unhappiness since I liked him a lot. He was a great actor and inspired many people. We all miss him.


	3. Challenge 20: Sleep

**Sleep**

He hates sleeping. You'd wonder why he does, when it's a pure bliss to you, but hey, who expects _you_ to understand?_ He _certainly doesn't. He doesn't need anyone to understand, to emphatize with him. He's the Trickster King whose kingdom is on the Wrong Side of the Tracks –the side with an atmosphere so full of mischief and Darkness and filth that one cannot even imagine how it would be with Right in it. Yet, Right is slowly creeping into the Wrong Side. It shouldn't be. It isn't supposed to happen. But it is, and he is aware of the reason, as aware as he can be.

The reason is her.

_Her._

Sabrina.

_His_ Sabrina.

He had a fight with her in the afternoon. He doesn't remember how it started –not that he wants to remember all the shouting again- and he doesn't know what he did wrong. At first he was delighted to see that he could still do Wrong, despite everything she represents (the Right: good, clean, nice, responsible etc.) and marveled at his own wonderfulness. Then he realized that she had her own Darkness as well. Her anger and short-tempered nature were the perfect examples for this. And he was glad that he could feed himself with her Darkness and Wrongs.

Everything was okay, sometimes out of control, but that was the fun part. He likes the uncontrolled rush of things, the irrational and unpredictable behaviours and such -she knows that as well as he does. And they did enjoy themselves, with all the little bickering and passionate nights and delicate whispers.

What had gone different tonight? He can't remember. He can't understand the reason behind her yells. He doesn't even remember how it started.

He turns in the bed, his slim figure wrapped up in white sheets. He's in a hotel, he wouldn't be able to sleep there tonight. He knows he wouldn't be able to deal with her blazing looks filled with hurt and anger. There wasn't any playful twinkles in her eyes when they yelled at each other. Instead, he remembers the hurt. The sorrow. The pain.

He hates sleeping. In sleep, you see dreams –his are always nightmares.

He knows he'll be haunted with her face in his nightmares, he'll try to save her and she will refuse him no matter how much he says he loves her.

He will try to reach her and fail.

He will be watching as a faceless figure wraps its arms around her and she smiles blissfully, the way she does whenever she is in his arms, not anyone else's. His breathing will quicken and his brain will be pounding with blood. He will crave for the blood of that faceless figure who has his arms around her, who dares to touch her and who dares to make her smile like that.

A pang of jealousy will hit Puck as he tries to stop his hands from shaking.

He will be trying so hard to stop the tears from falling, and fail again.

He will meet her gaze and freeze. He has never seen her with eyes so _cold_, so _distant_, so... _unknowing_. Those are not her eyes. They cannot be.

_They just cannot be._

And he will wake up, drenched in cold sweat. He won't be able to get rid of the shockingly realistic memory of those eyes, no matter how hard he tries. He will hate that memory as much as he hates sleeping and she hates the strange food the old woman cooks.

He knows all these will happen, he doesn't need to be assured by some kind of fortuneteller or crystal ball. The future, the consequences of his actions have always been laid in front of him on the Table and he always chose what he wanted. This time, he sees the nightmare with the Cold Eyes on the Table and he's scared shitless. He hoped not to see it there, yet here it is.

He's afraid. Afraid fails to cover it. Terrified, horrified or scared out of his wits aren't enough to explain his fear, as well. He doesn't know the right words to use. He just wants a way out of this Room of Consequences where stands the Table and on It, the Cold Eyes Nightmare.

He turns around again. It's going to be a long night.

* * *

He gives in to sleep. This isn't the first time, and won't be the last. He'll always give into the sleep, as he has done many times before. When he was with her: Lying beside her warm body on the bed, caressing her soft hair and wondering how such a beauty could be true. Surrendering to sleep has been easy with her, it isn't now, though. He's scared shitless.

What is he supposed to do? If he dared to look at the mirror right now, he would see that his eyes are bloodshot from the lack of sleep and his cheeks are still carrying the dried tear trails. As to how his hair looked, well, he wouldn't care about that, really. His hair has always been messy, just the way she liked it.

It gives him a stab of pain in the heart whenever he thinks of her now. He still doesn't know what he has done wrong. It's not so easy to remember for him. He remembers how she scolded him for losing his keys to the house and frowning at him with her delicate lips forming a thin line. He remembers how he crashed his lips onto hers and how she melted into his arms, forgetting all about the keys and unnecessary stuff. He remembers carrying her upstairs and spending the night with her. All these happened yesterday and he remembers them. What he doesn't (can't) remember is the damn reason of their fucking fight and he just doesn't (can't) get why he can't (doesn't) remember what she blamed him for.

FOR _WHAT FUCKING THING_ DID SHE BLAME HIM?

Damn!

He punches his pillow and breathes heavily. He can't control himself. This is all wrong, all wrong and nonsense. Crap, crap, crap... All this don't make any sense. Not one bit. Why isn't he with her right now, watching her sleep as he always does? Why can't he?

WHY?

Damn!

His pillow is punched once again and he doesn't know if he can stop doing it. He needs to channel all his anger somewhere and punching his pillow is the most silent and the least damaging thing he can do right now. He has to do with this. Just for now.

* * *

The sun shines through the window. The curtains aren't thick enough to save him from the wrath of the blazing sun. He groans, his muscles are stiffened from the weird sleeping position he acquired during sometime in his sleep. He feels weak, his arms aren't strong enough to support the weight of his upper body and head, so he can't lift himself up to the hardboard of the bed. Instead, he just lays where he is, thoughts rushing to fill his head and awarding him a headache.

He hates thinking. Thinking destroys everything impulsive. Making love to her is impulsive. Thinking is the reason he is here in this hotel room with thin curtains and beige bed sheets instead of laying in their room with her sleeping soundly in his arms. _Damn thinking._

He groans once again, this time more loudly. She is invading his thoughts again. When hasn't she, really? Ever since he met her, he's been thinking about her –as someone to play tricks on or as someone dear, it doesn't matter. She's so... It's just not possible for him to explain these weird feelings he holds for her. What had she called them? Love?

Love. It feels oddly right.

_Love._

L-o-v-e.

It sounds really nice.

Loooooovvvvvve.

Love-schmove.

Love.

Just... _Love_. One word.

Love.

He settles on it. Love's a beautiful word, like a ray of sunshine –warm and caring. He likes warmth. Cold reminds him of his Father and the Nightmares. Cold reminds him of Moth –the spiteful little witch who thought she could get everything she wanted by marrying him. What had she been thinking? Did she even know what she was thinking? Really, marrying _him_? Either she was mad or she was _barking_ mad –is there a big difference in madness levels, anyway? He's glad he could finally stop her from stalking him. She's not even in the country anymore, not after she was threatened by the old woman that she would never be able to use her magic again if she kept stalking Puck. She's gone to somewhere in Europe, or he thinks so, he isn't sure. 'Good riddance' is the only thing that comes to his mind whenever he's reminded of her and it will forever stay this way.

Then he's taken away by an old memory. He remembers saving Sabrina from that

A deep sigh escapes his mouth; he's so caught up in thinking that he forgot what time it is. It's eleven o'clock now, and his stomach aches with hunger. He needs to eat something, _anything_. Since he is in a hotel, the food will be what _she_ calls "decent" –not that he minds the old lady's cooking. In fact, he likes it. Despite its weird and unbelievable contents, the food the old lady makes is pretty delicious. _She_ hates it, though. _She_ hates anything_ abnormal_. Then why did she ever say she loved him back? He's the fucking _paragon_ of abnormality, dammit!

He buries his had on his pillow. He can't find enough strength in himself to get up. Not now.

And he gives in to a deep well that is filled with the Nightmares which he can easily identify as his worst fears. He surrenders to the unconscious state entered into by the body for the purpose of rest and rejuvenation (in his case, the purpose of facing his fears): Sleep.

Again.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, here it is. The awaited-for-so-long third chapter of the story. I'm sending it now, and you don't have to remind me of what kind of a jerk, I already know it. It's been sent almost after a lifetime, I know. I'm really evil, I know. And the worst type of slacker, if I've heard correctly. Then again, come to my school, people, and let's see if _you_ do any better than me. Hmph! Anyway, I'm still waiting for your reviews. Even if you think I'm a total bitch for sending this chapter after such a long time, then let me know it somehow, so I can explain the reason to you. And if you have any objections to my storyline, then please inform me. I'm open to every suggestion. Thank you all in advance.

Oh, and I decided that I would use themes from the challenge but I won't be writing 100 chapters, it's impossible for such a lazy and impatient jerk like me. It'll be, at most, ten chapters. The number may change, but that depends on you and my schedule, so no promises.


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